


Invested

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton: Openly Gay Senator From New York, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hamilton's not putting up with his shit, Hate Sex, Jefferson's a dick, M/M, Thomas Jefferson: Married Republican Senator From Virginia, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton, 32-year-old Golden Boy senator from New York, just wants to unwind after a Very Stressful Day at work.</p><p>Which would be a lot easier if the main reason for his ever rising blood pressure wasn't at the gay bar he just went to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invested

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icouldbuildacastle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icouldbuildacastle/gifts).



> Happy birthday Sangitproudly. I obvs didn't get it done yesterday, but I don't think I did half bad to have finished this in about 24 hours.

The glowing ‘e’ flickers once, twice, three times before giving up it’s valiant fight to stay alive. 

Even with half the word no longer illuminated, the last two letters likely having stopped glowing weeks before, there’s no questioning if this is the place.

It isn’t a classy joint, dark brick only interrupted by a wavering multi-colored flag highlighted by a single spotlight and the almost pathetic sign. There’s a single bouncer by the door, a buff man in a too-tight shirt who marks x’s onto more than half the people going past him. Even from a distance, he can almost feel the throbbing of the bass, knows once inside it will be too loud to converse, too dimly lit to really see.

In other words, it’s perfect.

The driver of the car he’s in checks that the address is right, and Hamilton smiles, hands over a tidy sum of cash before dividing the rest into two groups. One he slides into his shoe, the other into too tight jeans before stepping out of the car. That way if he gets a little loose at the bar or gets pick-pocketed he’ll still have enough for the ride home.

Outside of the car, but not yet in the mass of people, he can breathe easy. Does so, one last deep breath before he flashes his id and disappears inside. At thirty-two years old, he’s far past the point where anyone would try and keep him from enjoying himself in any capacity he might like. A fact he plans on taking advantage of tonight. 

Beelines for the bar, does his best to survey the crowd as he orders his drinks. Many men would be excited by the sight, the sweating bodies writhing on the dance floor leaning towards young and fit-

And he’s glad for that, he is. It’s so much better than the fancy parties that Laurens likes to drag him too. Where the young, pretty things are usually trophies or hired personalities. Less skin and more suits, brighter lit- better food-

The only thing, he thinks, that those parties really have on the club scene, is the quality of their liquor. Smooth scotch or bourbon going down easier than overpriced shots of vodka. Which is fine, he’ll do a few and then wash it down with a cocktail more juice than alcohol before joining the chaos of the dance floor. 

John thinks him queer in his tastes, in more than the obvious way. If the man wouldn’t have balked on the notion he would have invited him to come, returned the favor for all the doors that the Senator opened for him. But while John might enjoy the view more than he does, he’s also particularly careful about not being outed. It’s understandable, really, considering South Carolina is nowhere near as accepting of these things as New York is. 

Of course, the problem with only going to parties with high-security clearances is that one finds out things they wouldn’t want to know about their coworkers. And Alexander’s never really had an interest in mingling with the elites outside of congress either.

So he goes to places like this, hole-in-the-wall sort of places. Never too close to DC, never too popular, or cultured. No, Alexander wants to disappear into a crowd of people who wouldn’t be able to list of their own elected officials, much less recognize one from another state.

With a flourish, he downs the rest of his apple martini before sliding the empty glass and a considerable tip in the direction of the bartender. Steadies himself with a hand on the bar before pushing off to join the movement below. 

There’s a raised stage to his right, and he watches as someone swings along a pole there. Not his type but still beautiful. Still thriving and new and not bitter. 

That’s the other reason he comes to places like this.

Nostalgia.

-

Jello shots are an excellent chance to consume both food and alcohol at the same time while also showing off what exactly one can do with their tongue. At least, that’s his theory as to why they sell them out on the main floor. One makeshift bartender weaving in and out of the crowd with a platter and Alex takes two. 

Thrusts his tongue into the little plastic cup, making eye contact with an older man standing near the wall. It’s always a little disappointing when he’s the oldest one on the floor. Not that he’s going to complain about the way they grind against him or loop their arms around his neck- it can be thrilling in a way. He’s always been a smaller man and it’s nice to be perceived as dominant somewhere other than the Senate floor. 

The jello is orange flavored with maybe a hint of tequila, he notes as it rests against his tongue briefly. Swallows it easily, followed by the next, never breaking eye contact. The man in question smiles at him, but in the end, moves to go outside, probably to smoke a cigarette. Maybe an invitation for Alex to follow so that they can talk.

It takes him a moment to break away from the dancers in order to throw away his trash, and he considers the door for a moment before shaking his head. Alex didn’t come here to talk, he came to drink and dance. If someone’s interested in taking him home, they’re going to have to find him in the crowd.

When Alex makes it back to his spot on the floor, a young man in a highlighter tank top decides to show him a good time. Thrusts his ass back against Alex’s crotch, grinding in a fashion that leaves no illusions. The sight of a black X on the back of his hand makes Alex woozy for a moment, even though he’s done nothing to encourage the boy. Boy. Teenager. Alex has feelings about those who prey on people a fraction of their age, and he has, at the very least, a decade on this… young man.

So when a pair of strong arms loop around his waist and pull him back, he goes willingly. Stares, just a little bit startled, down at the dark hands now grasping his hips, moving his body to the beat. It might be his mystery man from earlier, back from his cigarette break. It’s hard to tell and in the end, it doesn’t really matter.

Not when he can see the back of both hands, knows that whoever has him is old enough to buy their own drinks. Most likely older, with a watch a little too nice to be seen in a place like this.

That should have been his first clue.

But while it strikes him as off momentarily, it doesn’t stick with him. No thoughts do, not really. Too focused on moving to the beat now that he’s been placed in the position to show off. Earlier in the evening, his hair had been thrown up into a bun, a makeshift attempt at keeping him cool despite the alcohol and collective body heat in this place, and he leans his head back tentatively, trying to check if it’s going to hit the other guy in the face.

Comes into contact with solid chest, which means that whoever it is probably isn’t his mystery man, not unless he was slouching against the wall. The man behind him has to have at least a foot on him, easily.

Not a clue in and of itself, but when added to the obnoxious watch-

It isn’t until one hand slides from his hip to cup his crotch, and he’s had a chance to make a fool of himself by thrusting up into it- that the third clue comes.

A low drawl directly into his ear. “So this is what America’s sweetheart gets up to at night.”

Alex swallows, heart in his throat as he turns to look at the owner of that voice. Tries to remind himself of the facts. 

One, they’re in a seedy gay bar. Two, Jefferson is a republican senator from Virginia, a married one at that, if Alex remembers correctly. Three, Alex has been out for two years, ever since his highly public though mostly amicable divorce from Elizabeth Schuyler. And he’s a democrat from a liberal state at that. 

Which all tidies itself up into a single fact- if this gets out? It’s not Hamilton that’s going down the hardest.

The worst thing he can be accused of is poor taste in venue.

It’s not that Jefferson isn’t attractive, Alex has eyes and he’s not above admitting as such. He’s a good looking man to be in his mid-forties. Springy, black curls in a minor flurry around his chiseled face. Dark, smooth skin peeking out of a loud purple button down and what appears to be a pair of slacks. The asshole is apparently still wearing what he had earlier that day at the budget committee though he has had the decency to ditch the suit jacket and polka dotted tie. 

No, the problem isn’t his looks or even his ridiculous wardrobe. It’s that it’s Jefferson.

Who is the single main reason that Hamilton had felt the need to drive three hours to a gay bar today to begin with. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like the budget committee- he does. Has a masters in Economics. His college roommate? Once accused him of jacking off to the treasury department. Finances Hamilton can handle.

Politicians who are more interested in pushing their agenda than reaching a compromise, not so much. Especially when their lack of interest in playing nice is leading everyone straight toward a government shutdown.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, doing his best to break away further. 

It’s fine. He still has his phone. He’ll walk out of the club, call an uber. He still has the money in his shoe to get him back. From there he’ll figure out what to do. Other than claw his eyes out in an attempt to forget how much he’s embarrassed himself.

Maybe the night air will help him clear his mind a little further.

Except he never makes it that far because one of the benefits of being a foot taller than him is apparently moving faster as well. Hamilton stumbles back against the wall, and while part of him wants to hiss that they can’t make a scene, the rest of him realizes how few eyebrows they’re raising right now. 

Especially when Jefferson presses his knee in between his legs, face so close that Alex can feel warm puffs of air ghosting across his nose. 

“Now, now,” Jefferson drawls, looking far too amused for a closeted senator caught at a gay bar. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.” Hamilton keeps his voice low, biting back the urge to spit in the man’s face. “What are you even doing here? Don’t you have a wife at home worrying about you?”

“Oh, Alex, darling Alex..” When did they become so familiar? “Bless your heart. I just came to talk to you. About the budget, you see. It isn’t my fault where you ended up going.”

Did Jefferson really think he could pull that card? They’d left work at least five hours ago. Jefferson had apparently driven for hours to follow him. 

It’s an unnerving thought. “Well, Senator-” he stresses the title, “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for negotiations. I prefer to keep that sort of thing close to business hours.”

Jefferson laughs, face still too close for Hamilton’s comfort, and when he goes to shift, to move away again, the man counters by raising his knee.

The act ends with Hamilton on his toes, trying to avoid bearing weight on that leg. He’s already embarrassed himself enough, a fact only highlighted when the Senator grins. “No, It seems you’re in the mood for something else entirely. Why don’t we see what we can… negotiate about that.”

When Hamilton doesn’t immediately jump on his offer, Jefferson leans in further so that he can speak directly in his ear once more. “You and I both know you won’t find another man like me in this ratty place. So why don’t you stop your internal debate about ethics- so that we can both relieve a little stress tonight.”

-

The first thing that comes out of Jefferson’s mouth when they arrive at Hamilton’s motel room is, “Let’s get something out of the way. I don’t bottom and I don’t eat ass.”

Which is fine, Hamilton’s flexible with what he does with his partners but the way the man says it makes it clear Jefferson thinks he’s above it. “More shocking revelations from the closeted Senator, more at ten.”

There’s a brief second that he thinks Jefferson might slap him, but in the end, the man reigns in his temper. Instead, he glances around the room with a look of disdain, before bringing his fingers up to his shirt collar. “There a reason you aren’t undressed yet?”

Hamilton grits his teeth, god he hates this man. There're two twin beds in the room he rented, and he moves to sit down on the one that isn’t covered by his stuff. Doesn’t bother to pretend that he’s not watching Jefferson get undressed even as he pulls off his tank top. 

If he’s going to do this? He’s going to enjoy one of the few decent things about the man. Jefferson spends the time that he should be reading bills and learning about how the economy actually functions at the gym. And considering Hamilton’s taste for older men, they usually don’t look half as nice as this.

Unfortunately watching means he can feel the moment of horror after Jefferson’s finished mostly undressing. The man sneers as he glances around the room before reaching over on the bed that Hamilton’s not occupying to pluck up the suit jacket that he’d worn to congress earlier that day. Spreads it out on the seat of the only chair in the room before sitting his bare ass on it.

“You never know what you might catch from this kind of place,” Jefferson says as if it’s an excuse.

As if it isn’t a direct comment on what Jefferson thinks his wardrobe, and most likely himself, are worth.

Before Hamilton can decide if it’s worth being outraged over, Jefferson spreads his legs. And well, the deed is done, and truth is, with the way work has been lately it’s been too long. The cock there is beautiful, half-hard as it slides through Jefferson’s loose grip. 

“Alex,” Again with the unearned use of his first name. “Why don’t you be a dear and put that mouth to use.”

That’s the entire reason he allowed Jefferson to take him to the motel, isn’t it? It feels silly to resist, even considering his pride, so Hamilton walks forward. Doesn’t disillusion himself that kissing is on the table, lowers himself to his knees between Jefferson’s spread legs. 

Jefferson exhales, a breathy sound as Hamilton bats away his hand. Part of him wants to be a brat, to pull a stunt like he might have in his younger years. Tell Jefferson to keep his hands on the arms of the chair or else. But he’s not in his twenties anymore and this is not a game, he has no use for plays for dominance.

Besides, he might not be as young as he once was, but he still knows how nice his mouth is. It’s all the statement he needs. So he bends to his task and tries to ignore the acknowledge just who is attached to this lovely dick.

And because one can’t just enjoy the cherry on top, he moves his attention from palming Jefferson’s dick to ghosting his breath along firm thighs. Sucks and bites at the spot near where pelvis and thigh meet, knows from experience that it’s a tender area. Enjoys the way he can see long, thick fingers twitch as he nudges heavy balls with his nose. 

This is the kind of real estate he wouldn’t mind getting invested in. Doesn’t mind taking his time to get and know every spot and reaction. Watching as the dick in his peripheral fills out further, even as he pays it minimal attention. 

Bites back a smirk when Jefferson apparently gets impatient, one hand coming up to cup the back of Hamilton’s head, the other gripping the base of his own cock. Smears the tip along Hamilton’s lips, and Hamilton makes a moment of eye contact before opening up. 

Maybe he’s not so above small displays of pride after all.

Jefferson, on the other hand, is too impatient and Hamilton gags when the cock hits the back of his throat. Or maybe it’s payback, either way, Hamilton reaches up to grip the man’s thighs, spreading his own knees in the process. Changing the angle as he does his best to swallow around the man’s girth.

Let’s Jefferson control the pace, moving backward slightly when the man decides to stand up, doesn’t even protest when he keeps a hand in his hair during the process. Forcing him to stay on Jefferson’s cock even as he moved. It’s on the wrong side of difficult, but he’s never been one to back away from a challenge.

It’s actually going decently until Jefferson decides to open his mouth and remind him exactly whose cock he’s attached to. “Is this what you think about when you’re on the senate floor? Being on your knees?”

Hamilton pulls back, is surprised when Jefferson lets him. Though maybe the man is expecting him to say yes, to roll over and show his belly and play submissive. Jefferson should know better. “I don’t know, is it what you’re thinking about when you fuck your wife? Your pretty little page boy? Or maybe it’s Madison you’re lusting after- I’m sure he’d love to know what you’re-”

The hand that had been in his hair grips his chin, pulling him up, but Hamilton doesn’t back down. Doesn’t flinch even when Jefferson spits on him. Just raises an eyebrow, a mocking ‘well if that’s what you’re in to.’ 

“I’ve been saying it since you rode Washington’s dick to get elected, you need to learn to watch your mouth, boy.” It’s a snarl and Hamilton wonders which of his statements hit just a little too close to home.

Hopefully, the one about Madison, if only because of the hilarious image the pair would make. “You’re just jealous I have the President’s support. If you were on the right side of history for once, you might have it too.”

Jefferson sneers and Hamilton goes to push himself up. Obviously, this isn’t going to work, and if he’s not getting laid, he’s at least going to get a few hours of sleep.

But the grip on his chin tightens, doesn’t allow him to go very far as Jefferson looks down at him with a calculating eye. “And if this were what I thought about? How are you going to feel tomorrow knowing you’ve played into my every fantasy: powerful, up and coming senator from New York- America’s sweetheart down on his knees. Sucking dick like he’s paid for it. Are you going to be able to look me in the eye tomorrow and defend your little financial plan knowing I’ve come down that throat?” 

Jefferson’s baiting him. Even knowing that he can’t help but respond. “Might I remind you, Senator, you’re the one who followed me into that club. Who wanted to come back to my hotel room. Wanted to talk, my ass. You wanted dirt, and what you got was an openly gay senator going to a gay bar. You’re not the one who came out on top in this situation.”

Hamilton allows himself to be yanked to his feet by his hair. “Oh, but I think I am, though. On the bed, sweetheart.”

Part of him is screaming to end this. Walk out. Shove Jefferson out. Tell him to fuck off. But they’ve already come this far, and he can’t deny that he’s hard too. Makes a point of walking over to his suitcase, not immediately obeying Jefferson’s order. Retrieves his lube and tosses a condom in Jefferson’s direction before kneeling in the middle of the bed.

Slicks up his fingers, pressing one into himself without asking. It’s better this way. At least when he prepares himself he knows he’ll be stretched. Jefferson would probably shove two fingers in and think it was enough to move them back and forth a few times.

Hamilton lowers his head to the bed, spreading his knees further so that he can get a better angle as he works in a second finger. The position has the added benefit of being able to see Jefferson, eyes clearly trained on his ass, idly stroking his condom covered cock. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Hamilton gives his best impression of that mocking drawl, “Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long. It’d be embarrassing if you came before actually fucking me.”

It’s not his smartest move, mocking the man who is about to shove a cock up his ass, but Hamilton doesn’t care. Just huffs when Jefferson responds by dragging him down the bed, forcing him to put his feet on the floor. Brute.

At least he has enough courtesy to lube himself up, even drizzling some along Hamilton’s crack before sliding in. He’s thick, and Hamilton exhales slowly, pushing to try and ease the way. It’s surprisingly gentle, especially considering the way the man had fucked his face.

Once he’s in to the root, Hamilton speaks up, “I’m not going to break, ya know?”

When it takes Jefferson a moment to respond, it occurs to Hamilton that the speed wasn’t about him at all. It wasn’t Jefferson being gentle so much as the man trying not to embarrass himself and really, that’s too good.

Clenching around the man produces a moan, as well as a slap on his ass. “You’ll take what I want to give you, when I want to give it,” Jefferson snaps. 

“I’m sorry. Am I not being sensitive about the needs of men your-” The word age dies in his throat as Jefferson finally withdraws only to slam back in.

It seems his moment to collect himself was all he needed because he picks up a punishing pace, one that leaves Hamilton clenching the sheets as he’s thrust into the bed again and again. When Jefferson stops long enough to drag one of Hamilton’s knees up on the bed, it’s Hamilton that’s moaning. Every few thrusts slamming into his prostate, sending stars in his vision. 

He’s almost surprised when a hand circles around his cock, jerking him off in time with the motions and it doesn’t take long before he’s spending himself on the sheets. Jefferson follows soon after, and Hamilton takes back every thought he had about the man being generous when he pulls out so that he can take the condom off- jerking himself off so that his come lands all over Hamilton’s back and ass.

Fine. If that’s what Jefferson needs to do to make up for his sore ego, Hamilton’s not going to complain. Instead he lays there, before collecting himself enough to crawl up the bed and away from the wet spot. He’ll take a shower later, when the asshole is gone. 

Behind him, he can hear Jefferson dressing, and there’s an awkward moment where he can feel the man hovering. “Do you need-”

The question dies out, and Hamilton snorts, an unattractive sound. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

Hamilton can almost hear Jefferson’s eye roll, and it’s the last thing he says until he reaches the door.

Which he promptly slams before he can see Hamilton’s finger in response to his comment about seeing him at work tomorrow.

Asshole.


End file.
